Racism? Or Civilizationism?
If you don't know enough to flush a damn toilet, I don't want you in my neighborhood. (Or my country?)
This is likely to be as controversial as anything I’ve written. In prelude, it may be helpful to take a glance at my pinned tweet, which is as heartfelt as anything I’ve written.
So let’s begin.
I think racism is abhorrent.
I think civilizationism is reasonable and just.
The demographics of the lovely neighborhood I live in are slightly more diverse than the Census: a roughly 50/50 mix of (a) white folk and (b) black, Hispanic and Asian folk. Almost to a man/woman, the people I’ve met in my seven years here are as lovely as the neighborhood. They all wave and joke and back-slap and high-five without regard to the identities that supposedly divide them.
Above all, they “know how to live.”
If you find that phrase triggering, read on, please. By how to live, I’m not talking about drinking Remy Martin or driving Porsches, though some of my neighbors do both (separately). I’m talking about basic dignity.
I’ve posted often about the truly lovely park the city built nearby. This was in 2020. You’ve seen pix of me walking my small dog, Abbey, there. At the outset, as is typical in such matters, the park was frequented exclusively by locals, people I recognized, or came to recognize, from the neighborhood; regulars. They were and remain impeccable in their conduct, hygienic habits and respect for our verdant little treasure.
Predictably, as time went by and word spread, people began arriving from outside the community. Caravans of them, at times. This was most noticeable at first in the quinceañeras Hispanics held there. A quinceañera is a delightful affair, but such lilting adjectives would not likely be used to describe the attendees, who began arriving in their lowered older cars or pick-ups, blaring Tejano music at decibel levels more appropriate to an airport runway. Till all hours.
They let their toddlers run naked in the sprinklers; there are “accidents.” They change diapers on the picnic tables where the neighborhood regulars eat their lunch the next day. And the garbage: when I walked Abbey one Monday morning, it was as if I’d encountered some diabolical riff on an Easter egg hunt: the serene grass was strewn with food wrappers, plastic cups, beer cans, 2-liter Coke bottles, half-eaten hot dogs and even a condom or two (used; I guess I’m thankful they were on birth control). Some of them had brought dogs with them, including a few snarling pit bulls I’d seen during a dog walk the day before, and though I don’t think I need to finish this thought, I will: They didn’t pick up after their pets—in contrast to my neighbors, who are scrupulous about their canine responsibilities. (One of the park rangers told me later that some of the revelers apparently weren’t fans of flushing toilets, either.)
I once posted photos of the scene, but I couldn’t dig them up today.
You do not see this kind of Third World squalor when people from the neighborhood hold events in the park. Never. I bring Abbey there at least twice a day and I also practice my baseball swing four out of seven afternoons, and I always encounter people I know among the well-behaved groups; so they’re neighborhood people or people known to neighborhood people.
The Hispanics aren’t the only problem visitors. It will not surprise you that invariably and without exception, the people who turn my lovely local park into a shit-hole are what you’d call ethnic. There is no missing this common denominator.
It’s interesting, too: the pleasant, organic gatherings hosted by my neighbors are always diverse, representative of our village demographics. Only the monolithic gatherings consisting of outsiders get out of hand. Some weeks back a group of several dozen black people convened there for a birthday party and the event resulted in a police visit. Someone fired a shot in the air (we have shot-spotter), and there were a couple of loud, drunken altercations. Two teenage girls walking their dogs reported being accosted by unruly partygoers.
The park has also become more popular with our city’s homeless population, who bus their way up, fall in love with the ambiance and decide to set up un-housekeeping. I don’t think I need to spell out the sorts of hygienic and other niceties that they create. They too have hassled kids walking by the park on their way to the bus stop, panhandling for the kids’ lunch money.
Finally, to return for a moment to the Hispanics, I am starting to see flags from other nations. I did not see this at the outset, even from the first phalanx of Hispanic visitors. I assume that some of these flag-wavers are emblematic of our border problem. That is especially worrisome.
I do not care to have these people in my orbit. Certainly I don’t want them despoiling my beautiful neighborhood park. I haven’t even mentioned the recent appearance of graffiti. It isn’t widespread, yet, but it’s there, and you know the progression. There’s never just one roach.
I reject the idea that there’s anything wrong with my attitude. I’ve worked hard for half a century, I pay good money to not live in a ghetto, and don’t think I’m obliged to be tolerant when the ghetto decides to stop by for a visit (or to sleep or screw or crap on the manicured grass where I spend a good part of my day).
This isn’t a race thing. It’s not even a class thing. It’s a civilization thing. I don’t care about your race (I even dislike the concept of race on principle), as long as you observe the standards of behavior you’d be expected to observe if you lived here.
I welcome reactions. I think.
Recently I've discovered Substack and old Twitter friend 😊
It's good to read your rantings and ravings haven't changed.
Stay well...